A Quilt for Jenna (26 page)

“
Mama, Mama!
” The words pierced Jerusha's heart. She looked at the little girl's face, but she wasn't awake yet; she had cried out in her sleep. Jerusha pulled the little one close to her and wrapped her arms around the tiny body. Instinctively she began brushing back the matted hair and softly kissing the little one's face.

“I'm here, baby, and I won't leave. Don't be afraid, darling girl. I'm with you now, and nothing can hurt you.”

She felt the girl relax and slip deeper into sleep. Softly she unclasped the tiny hands from around her neck, laid the girl down, and wrapped the quilt closely around her. She pulled her dress off the table and felt it. It had dried completely during the night, as had the girl's underwear and dress. Jerusha buttoned up her blouse and put on her dress.

I need more wood. I've got to keep the fire going until the storm passes or someone finds us.

Jerusha put on her coat and buttoned it against the cold. She went to the back door and opened it a crack. The wind howled, and the powdery snow blew in through the gap. She opened the door a bit more and looked out. The landscape had completely changed. At least twenty inches of snow covered the ground, and in some places across the meadow the wind had piled the snow into huge drifts. Jerusha decided to see what was in the storage shed next to the house. She braced herself against the wind and made her way around to the covered archway. The shed door was closed and latched, but instead of a padlock someone had used a tree twig to hold the door shut. She pulled it out and went inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see that someone had brought some wood in and piled it there. A pile of split pine logs was stacked against the wall, and several large branches were broken into stove-sized pieces.

Enough for a few more hours...

She gathered up what she could and made her way back inside the cabin. The little girl was lying still by the stove, sleeping in the quilt. Jerusha put the wood down and made another trip back to the shed. When she had accumulated a good-sized pile, she put some pieces in the stove and got the fire blazing again. Then she opened the quilt and quickly put the child's dry clothing back on her. She took off her own boots, crawled back under the quilt beside the little girl, and pulled Henry's old blanket over them. As soon as she wrapped herself in the quilt, the little girl put her arms around Jerusha and, without fully waking, spoke again.

“Mama...Mama, where are you?”

“I'm here, my darling, I'm here.”

Jerusha felt such tenderness come over her as she spoke the words that she almost broke. It was as though the love she had bottled up inside her for so long had somehow found its way into the old dry channels of her heart and started to flow like a stream seeking its way to the ocean, and wherever the water touched, healing came to that place. She pulled the little girl up close, and as she lay there with the child, she thought of Reuben. For a moment she wondered what was different, and then she realized that the anger she had felt toward Reuben for the last year was gone. Something had happened in the night, and all bitterness toward him wasn't there anymore. It had changed into...what, pity? Compassion? Understanding?

Forgiveness? No, not forgiveness! Not after what he did. I'm not ready to forgive.

But as she thought of him, for the first time she saw through the pain and the heartache and past all the bitterness. And there it was before her as clear as day—the root of the disaster that had come upon them.

When Reuben came home from the war he was different, and You tried to show me. I should have listened...

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

When Johnny Comes Marching Home

R
EUBEN
WAS
DIFFERENT AFTER THE WAR
. He had been home four months before he came to Jerusha's house one evening in June of 1943. He looked the same; he had the same flashing smile, the same strong, symmetrical face framed in dark hair, the same deep violet eyes. But something about him puzzled Jerusha. It wasn't on the outside, like his physical wounds. No, this was something else. And whatever it was, he had seemed to build a wall around it as if to hide it. But Jerusha saw it—not clearly at first, but later, when they were together more often—and she began to be troubled by it.

When Reuben had first come home, he went straight to his father's house and asked forgiveness for the things he had done to offend the community. He said he wanted to come back to the faith. After consultation with the elders, the family decided that Reuben would have a probation period to see if his heart was really true. Because he had deviated so fully from the
ordnung
, they had come to consider him as an outsider. The elders told Reuben he was to live among the Amish for an extended period and demonstrate a genuine conversion and faith that resulted in a changed lifestyle before he could be baptized. He meekly submitted.

She heard from his friends that he had been terribly wounded in battle and that he had been in the hospital in Hawaii for five months before the Marines discharged him and sent him home in February of 1943. That he made no effort to contact her for several months was hurtful to her, and she said so to her father.

“
Was er tut, ist gut,
” said her father. “He has returned to the fold, but he has seen much. It will take him time to come back to our ways. He is forgiven of course, but before he can enter into the community, we must be sure of him. Even if he were to come today and ask, I would not let him court you.
Aber er hat verstand.
He is wise. He will come at the right time and in the proper way.”

So Jerusha waited patiently for Reuben to come to her even though she longed to see him, to hold him and show him that she loved him as deeply as ever. The days went by so slowly as she waited. For the first time in her life she had to force herself to sit down at the quilting frame and work, and her heart wasn't in it. At night she would lay on her bed and stare at the ceiling until finally she drifted off, exhausted.

Eventually Reuben did contact Jerusha, but not directly. He sent a
schteekliman
, one of the deacons, who came secretly to the Hershberger home to obtain the consent of her parents for Reuben to court her. It pleased Jerusha's father that Reuben was following the
ordnung
so faithfully, but it puzzled Jerusha.

He was so independent when we met. That was one of the qualities that drew me to him. He used to say that following the rules and regulations was hypocritical if you thought they were old-fashioned and meaningless. And now he's going along with all of them.

The day that Reuben finally came to the Hershberger home, he didn't see Jerusha alone. Her parents were there as well as two of her brothers. Reuben was formal, even somewhat distant, though he was charming and seemed pleased to be there.

This is not like we were before he went to the war
, Jerusha thought as she sat across the table from him.

She remembered the night she lay in Reuben's arms in front of the fire in the old Jepson place. Reuben had left a note for her, begging her to meet him. She had slipped out of the house and met him at the head of the lane that led to her house. He was driving an old pickup truck. She had been shocked to see how different he looked. His hair was shorter, and he was not wearing traditional Amish garb. They had driven toward Dalton and then turned off on a lane that Jerusha realized led out past Jepsons' Pond to the old cabin. When they got there, he built a fire with some wood that had been left there, and then he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. And then he told her that he had decided to enlist in the Marines and go to war.

She could see that he had gone far away from the faith, that he had set his life on a path that would probably take him out of her life forever. And yet as she looked at him while he talked, the deep love she had for him almost broke her. He had begged her again to leave Apple Creek and go with him. And truth be told, she desperately wanted to go with him and be his wife and never be apart from him again. It was only the deep roots of her faith and her love for a God who had walked by her side all her life that held her back. As she listened to him pour out his heart, she knew she was in danger of leaving all that she loved behind to follow this man.

But she could not, and she told Reuben so. Then they had gathered their things, and he drove her home in his forbidden truck. Then he was gone.

And now he was back, sitting across from her, smiling, charming her parents, and being the old Reuben—almost. It took everything in Jerusha to keep from leaping up and throwing herself into his arms. Instead she sat and drank in his face. He was so handsome with his dark hair and strong features. Above his forehead, just under the hairline, she could see a scar, still red and healing. He moved his arm stiffly as though it caused him pain. But the biggest change was in his eyes.

When she looked into his eyes, past the violet and into the soul, she saw a dark pit of sorrow so deep that it sucked up and swallowed all joy. The smile that had lived behind his eyes was gone. In that moment she could see how terribly he had changed. Still, her love for him allowed her to overlook the pain. This was Reuben. He was back, and he was going to join the church and court her. That was all that mattered.

Their courtship was to stay a secret to the rest of the community, but in a short while, word had spread that Jerusha and Reuben were a couple, especially after Jerusha's mother planted a large bed of celery. Celery was an important part of Amish weddings, and this was an open announcement to the Amish in Apple Creek that Jerusha's family was planning one.

Reuben kept everything formal and followed the rules of courtship. They met at the Sunday evening singings or after church meetings and talked, and then they agreed to meet at another event or at her parents' home. Because they were both in their twenties and had never been married, they often found themselves in the company of the younger members of the community. Reuben was so much older in all his ways, and the issues that seemed so important to the young people were often so trivial to him and Jerusha that they both felt awkward. While the teenagers chattered on about
rumspringa
or their part-time jobs or which of them were serious about one of the others in the group, Jerusha and Reuben sat quietly and smiled awkwardly at each other. Jerusha found herself secretly longing for the days when they had met together without all the ritual and formality, when Reuben would open his heart and share the things he knew about the world, about music and art and history.

She remembered sitting at his feet while he spoke of such things, and the power of his speech and the depth of his understanding would overmaster her, and she would be drawn into the strange, wonderful, and yet terrifying world that existed outside the confines of Apple Creek. She had come away from those times together in awe of him, and even though part of her told her that it was wrong to listen to him and by doing so, involve herself in the world, his wisdom and knowledge were a great part of who he was, and knowing that about him somehow bound her more closely to him.

Once she had asked him about the war, and he looked at her with a cold fire in his eyes and forbade her to ever ask him about it again. Rumors floated about that Reuben had gotten a medal for bravery in the war, but Reuben never said a word about it.

The courtship continued for three months. One day Jerusha's father came to her and told her that Reuben had asked formal permission to marry her.

“I have watched him,” he told her, “and I would be pleased to have him for a son. His life reflects the change he has made, and the elders have agreed to baptize him. After that, we will publish your agreement to the community.”

Jerusha listened quietly with mixed emotions. She felt joy, but also something else—a gnawing uneasiness about Reuben. He was simply a different man now.

“You do not seem as joyful as I would expect,
dochter
.”

“It's nothing,
Daed
,” she said. “I love Reuben, and I will be glad to be his wife. I'm only thinking about the things he's suffered, and I hope my love will bring healing to his heart.”

“
Ja, das ist gut, meine dochter
,” said her father. “Reuben has been where we Amish fear to go, for it stands in the face of everything we hold to be true. I have never been in a situation that forced me to choose my faith over my family's safety, or that of a friend, so I cannot see into his heart, but this I know. Jesus commanded us not to kill because it leaves a scar on the very soul of a man. Reuben carries those scars, and they will change him, maybe for good, maybe not. The best thing is that he has returned to our ways, and there is healing for him in that. Be a good wife to him, Jerusha. Give him children and be his helpmeet. He may never forget what he has been through, but with your help, perhaps he can put it aside and get on with his life.”